Avon Fantasy Reader No. 12 — page 67: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

to haunt streams or marshes. Sometimes it falls in love with human beings, striving jealously against mortal rivals... . The wores swam before her vision, for the snake-smell had risen sickeningly around her. And something was gripping the hand that rested on the rim of the tauk. Tus mouth opened but, as before, terror throttled her. Like a sleeper in the throes of nightmare, she struggled half-heartedly. She dared not look, yet some power forced her head around. The grip had shifted to her wrist. Long, claw-tipped fiugers were clamped there—-fingers as large as her own, scrofulous green and of a swampy chill. Lu’s eycs slid in fascinated horror along the scale- ridged, corded arm to the moldy-looking body, stuck and festooned over with weed-fronds, that was rising from the water. Another foul haud stole swiftly out, fastened on Lu’s shoulder, and jerked her close. The flat, grotesque face, grown to human size, was Jevel with hers, its eyes triumphant within their dead white rings, its dark tongue guivering between gaping lips. Yet again Lu tried to find her voice. All she could achieve was a wordless moan, no louder than a sigh. “Did you call, sweetheart?” came Cannon’s cheery response from his washing. “PI be with you in a minute now; this thing is still hanging on like a poor relation!” The reptilian jaw dropped suddenly, like the lid of a box turned up- side down. Lu stared into the slate-gray cave that was the yawning mouth. Teeth, sharp teeth, gleamed there—not one row, but many. Lu’s hands lifted fecbly in an effort at defense, then dropped wear- ily to her sides. The monster crinkled its humid features in something like a triumphant grin. Then its blunt head shot forward with in- credible swiftness, nuzzling Lu at the juncture of neck and shoulder. For a moment she felt exquisite pain, as of many picrcing necdles. After that she neither felt, heard nor saw anything. The medical examiner was drawing a sheet over the still, agony- distorted body of the dead girl. The police sergeant, scribbling his final notes, addressed Cannon with offtcial sternness. “Sorry,” he said, “but you haven't explained this business at all satis- factorily. You come down to headquarters with me.” Cannon glanced wanly up from his senseless wrestling with the rin that would not quit his wedding finger. “I didn’t do it,” he seiterated dully. The medical examiner was also speaking, more to himself than any- one: “An autopsy might clear up some points. Those inflamed, sup- purated wounds on the neck might have been made by a big water- snake. Or,” he added, with a canny glance at the sergeant, “by a poisoned weapon constructed to simulate such a creature's bite. 65 comichbooks.com